


Something Ours and Ours Alone

by hostagesfic



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Comeplay, Hand Jobs, M/M, Public Sex, Slight/implied/discussed exhibitionism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-16 02:49:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/856905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hostagesfic/pseuds/hostagesfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s dark, but Louis is right there to catch him under the pale floodlights at the back entrance, grab Harry’s elbow with tight fingers. “Going somewhere, Styles?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Ours and Ours Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Because PNC Arena in Raleigh has a great bus lot that's perfect for unobserved public handjobs. And we thought Harry and Louis needed some time alone. (There's also some Niall/Josh if you squint.) Thanks to [Brie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbreeeze) for the great beta job, any remaining mistakes are wholly ours! Title from "After The Last Midtown Show" by The Academy Is...

Harry’s been too warm all night, a heavier kind of heat than the usual of stage lights and venues, something about the humidity of this state, the looming cloud cover that’s threatened through the afternoon. He’d slipped out of his shirt and into a vest on his way from under the stage to their dressing rooms (it’s probably Josh’s, by way of Niall, judging by the fit, but it’d been hung over a crate under the set and was fair game as far as any of them were concerned), and he’d slipped as easily past their venue security, looking frazzled and not really used to One Direction crowds, to follow Louis down another corridor, away from the dressing rooms.

He’s scrubbing his tee shirt over his face and grimacing at the foundation stains it leaves, the way he can feel it in his eyebrows and hairline still, thick from Lou’s exasperated application earlier to try and mask the bags under his eyes and the lines that have popped up overnight on his forehead, the stress spots on his temples. Louis is a few steps ahead, his hands shoved in his pockets and his own stage clothes a little baggy on him, like he’s deflated since coming off stage. He looks small and lost and innocuous, wandering through the backstage jungle, ducking past movers and around staff, head down. Harry nearly loses him twice, and sprints to catch up, nearly falling through when they make it to a door and out.

It’s dark, but Louis is right there to catch him under the pale floodlights at the back entrance, grab Harry’s elbow with tight fingers. “Going somewhere, Styles?”

Harry licks his lips, chapped from running about onstage, and nods. “Dunno,” he hums, giving Louis a sideways glance, quick. He’s different out here than under the stage lights- more vulnerable, somehow, but it might just be that Harry hasn’t really had a chance to look all night. “Are we?”

The crowds must have just started to spill out the venue doors in a rush of noise; it’s lower and more indistinct than during the concert, a steady hum from above the terraced loading bay of the arena. The lot area itself is still dark and quiet, only the purr of the generators on the busses and hushed noise from further around the back of the venue, traffic being conducted and trailers being backed in to be loaded at the docks. They still have a good half hour before the entire set is broken down and the rest of the crew and lads have bus call.

Louis turns back to him from a final survey of their surroundings and for what feels like the first time that night, gives Harry a small, genuine smile. “Might have plans,” he says, with a tired shrug, just his shoulders moving, jerking his chin to indicate the busses behind them.  

Harry shivers, nods in agreement. He’s still wired from the gig, can hear his own heartbeat in his ears and feels like he’s glowing under Louis’ attention. He’s been patient, and now that he’s been offered a reward it’s impossible to turn it down, and to look at anything or anyone other than Louis. It’s a good thing no one else is around; Harry’d feel bad about being impolite. “Tell me,” he mumbles, looks down and then up at Louis through his lashes.

“Not here,” Louis rolls his eyes, lips quirked. “Back over there,” he nods, “where no one can see. Big secret and all that.”

“Not- on th’bus?” Harry clarifies, blinking sweat out of his eyelashes, rubbing at his face again with his wadded up shirt. His entire body feels dizzy with adrenaline and the prospect of Louis wanting to put on a second show, one that’s just for them.

Shrugging again, Louis presses his thumb down against the crook of Harry’s elbow. “It’s nice out tonight, yeah? Bit of fresh air couldn’t hurt you; y’look tired.” Stepping even closer- not without another darting look around- he nudges Harry’s sweat-sticky shoulder with his nose. “Lemme take care of you, love.”

Harry’s so tired of saying no, and it’s so easy to say yes to Louis, especially when he offers his words with such sweetness, such care. Harry doesn’t mind admitting he likes being spoiled, likes being babied a bit, even, whether it’s by his mum or Gemma or Paul or the other lads (when they’re not making fun of him). Louis, though, Louis is the best at it, the best at Harry, and has been since the first time he found Harry in the loo at the X Factor studios, puking his guts out ten minutes before they were scheduled to go on live television.

He means to say please, means to say thank you or anything at all, really, but all that comes out is a little tired whimper, and he’d used up his words on stage, shouting his lungs out to a crowd that had shouted them right back. But he doesn’t need words with Louis.

Keeping a hand firmly around Harry’s forearm, Louis navigates the maze of parked buses and trucks, thanking the “powers that be” for the clear coast. It’s the perfect window of time; everyone is either winding down from being onstage or gearing up to strike the set. He stops abruptly between two busses- one of the cargo busses, wrapped in massive prints of their faces, weirdly distorted in the shadows and dark of the lot, and one of the band’s- and Harry stumbles, has to brace himself against the side of the bus to keep from faceplanting.

“Come on,” Louis huffs a quiet laugh, corners Harry so his back is against the cool metal of one of the busses. “Gotta keep quiet,” he instructs, jerks his chin up at the arena above them, the sounds of chattering fans past the trees that isolate the backstage lot.

“What’re we doing?” Harry asks, even though he could probably guess. With Louis, though, he doesn’t have to. Not when Louis likes him asking, relishes the chance to show and to tell.

Louis gives one last glance around, quick and cautious, before slipping a hand into Harry’s sweaty curls and pulling him down into a hard kiss, setting his teeth against Harry’s lips and nudging a thigh in between Harry’s. He’d rather show, this time, than waste their precious few minutes with explanations and pleasantries. Harry’s a clever boy, and he catches up quickly enough, kissing Louis back with enough force to leave him dizzy, arms around Louis’ narrow waist.

They don’t have much time, and Louis reminds Harry of it with their mouths still pressed together, mumbling between their lips, tongue dipping just against Harry’s. They’re both gasping when they break apart, chests heavy with their breathlessness. “Lemme see you, then,” Louis whispers, still close enough that his smile is pressed to Harry’s lower lip, the tip of his tongue tracing the full bow of it.

Harry brings only one hand down to the front of his jeans, at first, trying to keep the other at the small of Louis’ back, but it’s a lost cause. He fumbles just to unbuckle his belt, brows furrowed, and exhales, defeated, before letting go of Louis and working his tight jeans open, shoving the denim aside and pushing at the elastic of his briefs. He doesn’t even get them out of the way, just pulls his cock out over the waistband, half-hard in his big fist, and looks up at Louis, bright-eyed.

Louis’ been watching without comment up till now, hands neatly out of the way at Harry’s shoulders, thumbs lightly playing at his collarbones where they peek out from the straps of his vest. When Harry looks at him, though, Louis raises an eyebrow, glancing down at Harry’s cock in his hand, then back up. “That the best you’ve got, Harry?”

“Bit more kissing would help,” Harry grumbles, slides his hand over himself, tugging his foreskin back, staring at Louis’ mouth. “Wanna see you, too, Lou.”

Louis doesn’t look down again, instead he leans in to kiss Harry’s chin, darting quick, and letting the denim of his own jeans brush the back of Harry’s knuckles. “Someone might come by,” he whispers. “See my bits just out in th’open air. Bit of a scandal, innit?”

“They’d see me, too,” Harry shivers, although he knows what Louis is doing, knows it’s about him. “Really wanna touch you, though,” he adds, hopeful.

Louis shushes Harry, shakes his head fondly before biting Harry’s lip again, sucking at it and petting Harry’s sides beneath his vest, hands slowly making their way inward, tracing the sharp cut of his hips and the full softness just above them. “Quiet,” Louis hisses, scrunching his nose. “‘member? Or someone might hear us.”

Harry nods in agreement, looks down at his cock in his hand and back up at Louis, expectant. “Please?” he whispers.

Louis leans up, running his hand to the back of Harry’s neck to urge him down, kissing him hard on the mouth, fucking his tongue between Harry’s lips until he sucks on it obediently. He kisses Harry until he can feel Harry’s hand moving between their hips, wanking himself off, and he kisses Harry until he’s too distracted to notice Louis’ other hand sliding off his shoulder.

He bats Harry’s hand away from his dick, making his cock bobble in the process, jump up against Harry’s tummy. The little curve in it that Louis so likes is prominent like this, when they’re both pressing foreheads together to look down between them at Louis’ fingers curling around the base.

“Oh,” Harry sighs, one hand palm-flat against the bus to help him stay on his feet as Louis finally, finally touches him- just holding his cock without stroking, at first, teasing. Louis’ hand feels better, somehow, than his own, and it might all be in Harry’s head but it’s not like he minds if it is. With a firm grip, Louis slides Harry’s foreskin up and back down, tips his chin up to pepper kisses underneath Harry’s jaw and down his throat, soft and sure. “Haz,” he whispers, thumbing at Harry’s cockhead, “undo my trousers, yeah?”

Harry shivers happily, nods as much as he can while staying still for Louis to keep at his throat. His fingers grope blindly across Louis’ stomach, down to the front of his jeans. He can feel Louis’ cock pressed out against the zipper, and he’s careful as he pulls the fly open, palming awkwardly at the fat jut of Louis through his underwear, too eager and easily distracted.

“Proper touching works, too,” Louis huffs, giving Harry’s dick a squeeze and his neck a sharp little bite. “Wanna come together, yeah?”

“Yes,” Harry nods before Louis’ even finished his sentence, getting his hand inside Louis’ pants and stroking him as steadily as he can, distracted by Louis’ hand on his own cock and all. Harry doesn’t bother trying to properly get Louis’ dick out, but when he tips his chin down he can see the shiny, dark head of it poking out above his waistband, smearing a bit of precome on the trail of hair leading down from his bellybutton.

Louis hisses. He’s always has needed a bit more slick than Harry; he doesn’t get off on the sting of it the same way. Harry knows this, really, it’s just that sometimes he gets impatient, wanting to get his hand on Louis’ dick as quickly as he can, feel the weight of it in his palm, the thrum of Louis’ pulse speeding up when he presses his fingertips into the veins.

Louis’ hand is twisting wickedly on his own cock, though, tight and sudden, wrings a small noise from Harry’s throat, rough like a note he’d reached for on stage, and he lets Louis go, aptly reminded. Bringing his hand up between them, he holds his palm out for Louis. Louis shakes his head, fringe nearly in his eyes when it’s sweaty and down like this, and Harry’s chest constricts a little. It’s too familiar a sight, too clearly reminiscent of Harry’s early memories of the two of them together. Louis jacks his cock quickly, again, three fast pumps that make Harry’s knees shake. “Harry-”

Harry spits in his own palm, obedient, and shoves his hand down between them, rubs the wet over the head of Louis’ cock until he can feel it twitching out precome to help slick the rest of him, too.

“Yeah, ‘s good,” Louis grunts, dropping his forehead onto Harry’s shoulder and kissing ink and skin, huffing a sharp breath through his nose when Harry’s next stroke feels so much better, smoother.

He doesn’t hesitate to use every trick that works on Harry; they need to be quick, and Louis knows just how to take Harry apart, how to twist his fingers and press his thumb down under the head. He tips his head to the side, looking up at Harry from too-close, and readjusts his grip on Harry to slide his foreskin up, as far as it’ll go. It’s a stretch with Harry as hard as he is, but Louis manages to pinch it around Harry’s cockhead, rubbing his fingertips across it and pressing down on Harry’s slit, warm and velvety soft.

“Lou,” Harry chokes out, his rhythm on Louis’ dick faltering, and Louis shushes him again, catches his mouth in another dirty kiss, teeth set on Harry’s lower lip, relentless.

Louis reaches down with his left hand, not without a gentle squeeze to Harry’s bicep on his way, and begins jerking Harry off as he keeps his foreskin drawn up tight with his right. The rhythm is off, as he’s working with the wrong hand, but he’s moving fast, rocking forward into the curve of Harry’s body as he does so, Harry’s hand on his own cock bumping Louis’ knuckles on every stroke.

It always gets him hot, the fact that he has to double fist Harry’s cock to really work the entire length of him, and he has to remind himself to gentle their kiss before he bites Harry’s lips hard enough to bleed. He draws back just enough to lick his own lips and then Harry’s, slicking their next kiss the same makeshift way they’d done for their cocks earlier, and it makes him moan against Harry’s mouth.

Harry kisses the sound right off his lips, and gives Louis’ dick a hard, eager squeeze on the next upstroke. The sounds of the crowd leaving the venue have gotten louder, people starting their cars on the public lot and fans gathering at the gate that separates the crew lot, and it makes Harry more desperate to make Louis come, knowing each second they’re closer and closer to the possibility of getting caught. “Lou,” he whines, again, and jerks his hips up into Louis’ hands as Louis steps closer, all but pinning him to the bus as his whole back and the naked curve of his bum presses to the cool metal.

“Babe,” Louis breathes, pressing up against Harry, their hands pinned between stomachs and hips. “‘mon, Haz, y’good.”

Nodding eagerly, Harry jacks Louis’ cock faster, pulling his lips into his mouth, breath coming in ragged huffs, brows furrowed and nostrils flaring. He’s so close so suddenly, with the way Louis’ hands almost sting on his cock, too dry, too fast, and too drastically different from the way his own precome and Louis’ spit feels, gliding over the head of his dick under his foreskin and he whimpers, trying to warn him.

Louis grins, sharp, teeth poking out of his smile like he wants to eat Harry up, and he presses his mouth to Harry’s chest, biting just at the neck of his vest, his mouth half hot-wet on Harry’s skin and half muted, teasing through the fabric. “‘mon, babe,” he repeats, “gonna be so messy f’me, what if people-”

“Fuck, Lou,” Harry gasps, tips his head back and knocks it hard against the bus as he comes, hips bucking up and a moan caught in his throat when, looking up past the trees up the hill, he can still see the silhouettes of fans leaving the arena, oblivious to Harry and Louis and their own little corner of the universe.

Louis keeps his hand curled over the head of Harry’s cock, only letting his hold loosen on Harry’s foreskin when the come starts seeping out over his fingers; he wanks Harry off quickly, after that, even as he softens, head bowed against Harry’s shoulder to watch the come dribble out through his fingers, squelching around the head. “Gorgeous,” he mutters, when Harry’s finally slowed down, chest heaving, tips his face up to smile at Harry. “Good one, yeah?”

Harry nods, blinking slowly- there’s a dull ache at the back of his head, and he’ll have to remember to get an ice pack later, but for now he’s got far more important things to do, like swiping his fingertips over Louis’ cockhead just to see him shiver. He looks down between them at Louis’ come-covered hand and back up at Louis, keeps his hand moving on Louis’ cock and pokes his tongue between his lips, shrugging.

“Good lad,” Louis grunts, and Harry slips his free hand into Louis’ back pocket, and hums triumphantly when Louis raises his hand for Harry to lick his own come off, tongue flickering between Louis’ fingers.

Pressing his fingertips down against Harry’s tongue, Louis rocks back into the wide span of Harry’s warm hand on his arse, forward so their thighs fit together. He’s so close he can taste the phantom bitterness of spunk on his own tongue, like he’s the one with fingers in his mouth or like Harry’s sucked him off and is crawling up his body to share. Like he’s pressing his face into Harry’s crotch and swallowing around his cock or pressing his tongue inside Harry to taste himself. It’s overwhelming, too many thoughts and too many memories of Harry gasping his name, asking to see him come. It isn’t verbal, this time, but he looks up at Harry and Harry bites down on his knuckles, nods once, and Louis is coming so hard his knees buckle, collapsing against Harry’s chest.

Harry hums around Louis’ fingers, jerks him as he comes- it’s messy, and some of it catches the edge of Harry’s vest and the edge of his jeans, but it doesn’t matter. Louis is boneless and warm, and Harry smooths a hand up his back, beneath his tee, tracing the knobs of his spine, giving him a minute to recover before nudging their heads together. “We should-” he mumbles, gives Louis’ side a squeeze. “Cuddles on the bus?”

Louis nods, fingers slipping to Harry’s collarbones, leaning his face back to find Harry’s mouth blindly, eyes shut. He looks so small, in the filtered light of venue lights through the tall trees and looming shadows the busses cast around them, the skin under his eyes delicate and too pale against the dark smudges of his eyelashes. But when he opens them, slowly, it’s with a smile for Harry, a brave little kiss to Harry’s upper lip before he pulls away. He bends to pick up the shirt Harry hadn’t even noticed dropping earlier, shakes it out and wipes his hands, hands it to Harry.

They’re quiet as they straighten out their tops and tuck themselves back into their pants, zip up their jeans with silly, squinty faces of discomfort at being not only stage-smelly but come-sticky. The stain on Harry’s vest is still visible even after he wipes at it with his discarded shirt, but he leaves it, stealing a peck to Louis’ lips as he fixes his hair.

“D’you think we’ve time to go clean up?” Harry mutters, balling up the shirt in his hands and glancing at his watch.

“Probably not,” Louis sighs, and as if on cue, they hear Niall’s laugh past the bus behind them, presumably as he heads back onto their bus, showered and ready. “We can still try, though.”

“Long drive tonight, isn’ it?” Harry remembers, “Could sponge off a bit and just go t’bed?” He kisses Louis’ nose this time, just a little peck, and grabs his hand as they start back along the length of the bus. “Please?”

“Yeah, love, ‘course,” Louis nods, gives Harry’s hand a squeeze before letting it go now that they’re not as hidden. They don’t talk until they’re on the bus, passing a few roadies along the way, and once they climb the stairs they’re happy to see the bus is empty except for them. Niall must’ve followed Josh to the band bus, or found someone in the crew he hasn’t yet befriended, but what matters is that Harry can wrap his arms around Louis’ waist from behind and walk them back to their bunks for clean pants and shirts.

“D’you know if they got the hot water working in here?” Louis asks, jerking his chin at the bathroom door just outside the back lounge.

“Probably not,” Harry laughs, yawns. “Not looking forward to that.”

Louis huffs and when Harry begins digging through his own bunk to look for the tee shirt he’d left out from the night before, he intercepts him with a hand on his arm.  It’s gentler than earlier, his smile sweeter, if just as full of intent. “Here.”

Harry takes the shirt from his hands with a grin. It’s Louis’, not only by wear but also by right, he can tell by the size. It’ll be snug in the shoulders and chest, but it’s buttery soft cotton that Louis’ worn out playing FIFA on the couch at home and wandering around their kitchen of a morning, putting the kettle on. “Thanks,” Harry says, softly.

Louis nods, kisses Harry’s cheek and snatches his toiletry bag from the foot of his bed, heading off to the cramped bus bathroom, nodding over his shoulder. “C’mon, then,” he chirps, and Harry follows obediently, kicking his shoes off along the way even though he knows it’ll irk Zayn when he gets in.

They fit into the tiny bathroom with practiced maneuvering, Harry backing up against the toilet and the shower stall, Louis fitting in beside him and hip-checking him as they get the door closed.

“Hey,” Louis says, still standing close, nearly as close as earlier. He tips Harry’s chin down with fingers on his jaw, kisses him sweetly on the mouth. “s’get you cleaned up, yeah, princess.”

There’s a flannel- maybe Liam’s- draped over the edge of the sink, and Louis runs the tap, not even bothering to check on the warm water (a lost cause) to dampen it, digging a bottle of body wash out of Harry’s bag and squirting a drop onto the cloth. Harry gets busy pulling off his vest and wiggling out of his trousers, and by the time Louis turns to him he’s almost naked, his jeans and pants just past his knees.

“I couldn’t get them the rest of the way down,” Harry pouts as Louis laughs fondly, wiping at Harry’s chest with steady, gentle swipes.

Harry leans back against the door of the shower and lets Louis make quick work of him, efficient and interspersed with kiss; to his shoulders, chest and throat.

Louis motions for him to raise his arms, and Harry can touch the ceiling of the loo, which makes them both laugh a little. There’s noise from the front of the bus, voices and general chatter, and that means the other lads are probably all here. Harry tries not to squirm as Louis washes his armpits and the bus groans to life under them.

Not a minute later someone knocks at the door- “Are you two in there?” comes Zayn’s voice, mildly annoyed. He must’ve found Harry’s shoes.

“Loaded question!” Louis shouts back, wiping at Harry’s sides more than strictly necessary just to make him giggle.

“Just making sure, mate, we’re leaving soon,” Zayn says, and they can hear his receding footsteps as he heads back to the front lounge.

Louis turns to the sink to rinse out the flannel and apply a bit more body wash before continuing down Harry’s torso, swiping at his bellybutton and from hip to hip, shimmying down onto his knees, wedged between Harry’s legs and the counter to survey his softening cock. “Sticky, Styles,” he says, completely straight-faced, and then laughs.

Harry snorts a laugh, leans on the counter and wipes at his eyes to calm down. If they were less tired, maybe, he might’ve been able to get it up again and Louis could’ve sucked him off, but they’ve missed too many hours of sleep to have the will or stamina for it now. Harry settles for holding his breath as Louis takes his dick in one hand and cleans it with gentle swipes of the flannel, wiping off smudges of come.

“Just hold still, darling,” Louis instructs, lifting Harry’s dick, holding him with two fingers under the head, and Harry gasps when Louis pulls his foreskin back to get at the come still there, wipes under the crown quickly.

Louis kisses Harry’s hip, glancing up sympathetically. “Sorry, love, just a minute more.”

Harry nods and steadies himself with a hand on Louis’ shoulder, concentrating on the way his little mouth is quirked up in concentration as he presses Harry’s cock up to his tummy to wipe at his balls. “Thorough,” Harry mumbles, chin tipped down against his chest, and Louis huffs a laugh, shrugs.

Letting Harry’s cock go, Louis folds the flannel over and wipes at the creases of Harry’s thighs, then leans in to drop a kiss beneath Harry’s belly button, humming. He holds a hand out and Harry pulls him back up to his feet, plasters himself against Louis’ side as he rinses the flannel, nuzzling Louis’ shoulder.

“Vertical cuddling?” Louis hums, tipping his head against Harry’s for a moment.

Harry nods. “Doesn’t work as well as vertical sex,” he sighs, dropping a kiss against Louis’ pulse point before moving away.

“Just a minute, Hazza, be patient,” Louis tells him, pulling his tee over his head and dropping it as Harry undoes his fly.

“Being patient,” Harry says, mock affronted, “excuse you.”

“Excuse _you_ ,” Louis says, and then they both catch either other’s eyes and laugh, chorus, “Excuse me, Liam.”

“Excuse _you, two_!” comes Liam’s voice from the bunks outside, and Harry and Louis nearly fall over, laughter doubling.

Zayn’s grumbly voice follows Liam’s giggles down the hallway, something about how _it wasn’t actually funny the last two hundred times either, lads_.

Louis picks up the flannel and wipes at his own chest- there’s goosebumps up his arms- and he lets Harry watch with that furrowed-browed, lip-bitten expression on his face as Louis’ hand moves down to his belly, his hips. Harry doesn’t break until Louis starts dabbing above the waistband of his pants with unnecessary meticulousness, shakes his head and reaches out with an “Alright, lemme,” smiling knowingly at Louis’ mock surprise.

“Well,” Louis huffs as Harry drags his trousers and pants down. “Be quick,” he says, quirking an eyebrow at Harry and handing him the flannel.

Harry grins down at him, dimples showing, chapped lips stretched to accommodate the sunniness of his smile. Louis rolls his eyes, but it’s contagious, has him ducking his head to hide the flush on his cheeks as Harry cups his dick, begins wiping around the base. He’s careful, getting any sticky bits of come out of Louis’ pubes first; Louis usually keeps things trimmed close, but they haven’t had a hotel since Nashville, and Zayn had outlawed manscaping on the bus after the time Liam left a mess all over the loo and Niall tracked it out onto the hallway carpet.

When Harry lifts his cock to wipe at his balls beneath it, Louis has to brace a hand on Harry’s bicep, grunt something unintelligible but definitely profane at the contact. “Sorry,” Harry hums, but Louis shakes his head, tips his hips forward to encourage him. If he holds his breath until Harry’s done, Harry doesn’t seem to mind, grinning at Louis’ relieved exhale when Harry lets his dick fall back against the crease of his thigh.

“Thank you,” Louis hums, and it’s his turn to lean against Harry as he rinses the flannel out for the last time, making eye contact with Harry’s reflection in the mirror above the sink.

“You’re welcome,” Harry nods, wrings the flannel and shuts off the tap.

Louis leans up to kiss Harry’s throat and then exhales. “Naps, then, Harold?”

“A nap sounds good,” Harry smiles, yawns as if to support his answer. “Are the lads up?”

“I dunno,” Louis shakes his head, and it’s only then that he notices the bus is already in motion. “Sort of want you to myself, t’be honest.”

Harry grins softly. “Your place or mine?”

“Is yours smelly?” Louis scrunches his nose, wiggling out of his jeans and pants and stepping into his clean boxers. Harry keeps his bunk as neat as he can, but with runs of three or four shows in a row and having to rush back onto the bus to get to the next city, sometimes without a proper shower, the sheets don’t stay clean long.

“ _Hey_ ,” Harry frowns, grabbing his own pants and stumbling out of his bunched up jeans. “I just did laundry in Nashville.”

“About time,” Louis sniffs, and dodges a jab to the ribs from Harry, pulling his tee on and sneaking out of the bathroom before Harry can try to poke him again. Harry follows, slipping into the shirt Louis gave him and crawling into his bunk behind Louis. It isn’t roomy, and he’s fallen out of it more times than he’d admit while trying to get a cuddle, which are both excellent excuses to cling to Louis, legs curled up and both their heads on the same pillow.

Louis kisses the tip of his nose and they’ll probably regret not brushing their teeth before bed in the morning (or at least Zayn will, when they get in his face to wake him up with rise and shine kisses), but it’s too much effort to get up now. They’re too comfortable, and Louis is sneaking a hand under his shirt on Harry’s chest to tweak a nipple.

“Hey,” Harry mumbles, eyes already closed. “Lou, ‘ll fall out.”

“And I’ll shag you on the floor,” Louis shrugs.

“No,” comes Niall’s voice, from his upper bunk, opposite. “Stop, no. Don’t start that up again.”

Louis rolls his eyes and removes his hand from under Harry’s shirt, smoothes it out and settles his palm at Harry’s side instead. “Didn’t know you were there, Nialler,” he drawls. “Thought you were off with your little love nugget.”

“Go to sleep, Tommo,” Niall laughs, still loud and cheerful even when he’s probably struggling to keep his eyes open.

“Love you, Niall,” Harry pipes up, and then, even though they’re down in the front lounge, out of range without raising his voice, “love you Liam, love you Zayn, g’night everybody.”

“No love for me?” Louis pouts, chin tipped down towards Harry.

“Of course,” Harry says, softly. “All my love for you, Louis.”

Niall makes a gentle puking noise, or maybe it’s just the latest in his efforts to perfect Perrie’s goat impression. One can never be sure these days. One overheard skype call with Zayn and their lives forever changed, and all that.

“I hope Devine knows how disgusting you sound doing that,” Louis says, but he can’t even add the sting to it that he means to, breaking off in a yawn.

“Josh loves me for my disgustingness,” Niall says, and yawns too.

“Somethin’ you know all about,” Harry mumbles against Louis’ cheek.

There’s shuffling in Niall’s bunk and a disgruntled voice speaks up; “Can you lads stop talking about me like I’m not here? Also shut up?”

“Josh!” Harry smiles, and flails an arm out blindly to wave in their general direction.

Louis sighs. “Stop flumping about, Harold.”

“Hi, Haz,” Josh says, a bit muffled. “Are you lot just not sleeping on this bus now?”

“There’s distractions,” Louis supplies, “but sleep would be lovely.”

“Sleep,” Harry echoes. “Lovely.” He ducks down, curling up so he can rest his cheek on Louis’ shoulder, nuzzle his neck.

There’s more shifting and whispery sounds from Niall and Josh, but Harry’s too far gone to really process anything beyond Louis. His warmth and the proximity are like a heavy buzz in Harry’s brain, calming even the most stubborn remains of adrenaline, post-show jitters and making up for their distance during the day.

From the front there’s a low thrum of sound; Zayn and Liam and a television and the deep voices of security, and there’s the soft settling noises from the bunk opposite, and each are comforting in their own way. But none of them as much as the sound of Louis’ heart, steady and true, a soft rhythm that shakes Harry’s bones like a lullaby, soothes him into sleep.


End file.
